


Stitching Wounds

by the_elusive_plot



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Background Mystrade, Graphic description of drug use, John is a Mess, M/M, Mutual Pining, No Healing Cock, Not Canon Compliant, READ THE TAGS FOR TRIGGERS, Sherlock is a Mess, crisis line worker John, graphic description of suicidal idealization
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-12
Updated: 2016-12-14
Packaged: 2018-09-08 05:28:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8832238
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/the_elusive_plot/pseuds/the_elusive_plot
Summary: Sherlock and John did not meet as potential flatmates but on a crisis line. Each battling their own demons they run across each other. This is a Johnlock story about the boys learning to deal with their issues as they fall in love.





	1. Open Ears Support Line

**Author's Note:**

> So a few things I should mention here this story is meant to take a less media adjusted version of mental illness for lack of a better term. So PLEASE READ THE TRIGGERS I will post a warning on notes of a chapter if that chapter deals with something that I think may be triggering.
> 
> That said for those of you who are reading "The Johnlock Christmas Tradition Advent Calendar" That will continue to be posted by whatifiaminsane. As for "Half your Age Plus Seven" Sorry guys I have to rework the outline because I didn't outline the case in my notes as well as I should.
> 
> As always creative criticism is welcome, also if you think I need to add a tag please let me know.
> 
> I'm going to try and update this weekly hopefully I can keep up with that schedule.

John Watson was bored. It’s not that he wasn’t sympathetic to the woman on the phone whose dog had just died or even the more urgent calls to Open Ears Support Line, it’s just after you’ve been the worst of humanity in a war zone the worries of day to day life seemed trivial. That wasn’t to say John didn’t understand that to these people dealing with illnesses the stresses of life could be monumental. Hell, he was dealing with his own issues. Every day John Watson woke up and he just felt numb; the world he knew gone and thrown into a life of grey with a constant limp to remind him of what he lost. John pulled himself from his daze as he realized the woman was finished with her story and started asking her then necessary questions to assess her risk level, still feeling like a bit of heartless bastard for not being able to sympathize for the woman but also not being able to bring himself to care.

The phone call finished John sighed arching his back as the joints cracked and snapped relieving some of the discomfort of the chair he had been sitting in all morning. As a doctor he thought he really should be able to feel for these people. It was his job to help the sick (or at least it was) and a doctor without sympathy was considered useless. He had taken this job as his funds started to dwindle and he was unable to find a flatmate so he had to keep his tiny depressing flat and find a job quickly, not being able to work as a doctor with a tremor and quite bad PTSD he ended up with this job, to which he was barely able to keep up enough hours to keep himself off the street.

He sighed and braced himself as he answered another call on the wait list “Open Ears Support Line, this is John speaking how can I help you” he recited the cheery greeting from training.

There was no answer “hello?”

“Umm yes I… well” a deep voice on the other end stuttered

“Take your time” John said reassuringly 

“Ok umm so I just recently got out of rehab… and I’m struggling with cravings and not coping with my triggers very well” the voice said nervously 

“So how can I help you today?” John responded to the baritone voice

“Well I there's been a lapse between cas- I mean my work, which usually keeps me distracted” The baritone voice said still nervous.

“Was there something today that triggered you?”

“Ummm no I don’t think so I just… everything's so overwhelming without the drugs”

“How so?”

“... I can’t stop the information it like there are too many programs running on a computer at once”

“I’m not sure I quite understand”

Sherlock gave a frustrated sigh “Look I don’t why I phoned it again you people are always insufferable idiots, I mean the world I look at a person or a thing and SEE it, right now just listening to the background noise I can tell you're in a cubicle near the corner of the room by the number of voices surrounding you, I can tell that you're a doctor just by the way you speak and this bores you to tears, but your not arrogant about this being above your station it's something else that I can’t quite put my finger on”

“... That was amazing”

“What?”

“Really that was brilliant!”

“That’s... not what people normally say”

“Really? What do they normally say?”

“Piss off!” The two men burst into giggles on the line, there was a lull in the conversation before the baritone voice introduced himself “I’m Sherlock”

“Ok then Sherlock lets what I can do to help” John said now far more interested in the person on the other side of the line

\-------

John laughed again trying to cover his mouth lest the cubicles around him be disrupted. They had gotten a bit off track but Sherlock was fascinating, John couldn’t imagine why people would treat him the way they did. Sure he noticed what could be called some autistic traits here and there but the man was almost a superhero in a way (though John felt childish for comparing him in such a way) having the desk at the end of the hall usually sucked but it did give him a view of his manager’s office, when he saw his supervisor coming out the soldier immediately snapped back to his train for the hotline job.

“On a one to ten scale, how would you say your feeling now?” John checked the timer on his desk he had been talking for forty-five minutes, although the calls had no cut off time you were supposed to get them off the line and deal with the person’s problem as quickly as possible or refer them to the hospital or other services.

“Wha- oh your supervisor just showed up, didn’t they?”

“Yea” John responded feeling somewhat guilty for having to cut the conversation short.

“No… it's fine my craving has passed” 

“That's good to hear will, you be ok if I let you go?” John responded. While he didn’t want the other man to go he had a responsibility to make sure Sherlock was safe, as was his job.

“I will be fine doctor...” Sherlock responded not unkindly but didn’t make any move to say goodbye first

“well… ummm feel free to phone back if you need help again”

“I will endeavour to do s, umm, thank you” there was a clack and then dial tone as it showed that the caller had hung up.


	2. After the Call

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John and Sherlock ponder the other. After their finished phone call.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I probably should have just added this to the first chapter, since its so short. Also don't count on me for an accurate description of crisis lines. 
> 
> I know this is earlier than a week but I'm finding this easier to write than I expected to write. Hopefully it stays that way.

Sherlock stared at the screen of his mobile that showed a call had just been ended. It had been a week since his third stint in rehab and as always they had suggested crisis lines as a support for when the cravings becomes too much as though talking to a stranger would somehow help negate his penchant for illicit substances, the world and it’s “ordinary people” were what drove him to seek relief. In the past he had phoned hotlines like the one choose for to be greeted by an inane often tired voice that asked him poorly veiled questions to asses his safety level and told him that he could talk to them, and as always once the detective explained his reason for phoning they failed the test; it was something like a way of proving to himself that all his counsellors and psychiatrists were wrong and, that he was not like others and could not be “cured” buy simply venting his feelings to some stranger who would probably make vague noises in some attempt to show they were listening or even more unlikely: understood. As they couldn't actually do anything and he was very reluctant to share any personal thoughts with a stranger, he just used them in at an attempt to focus, making a puzzle about who they were and what may have been going around them. This would usually end with the person gritting their teeth as they went through question they could use or with the loud clack of a phone being hung up.

He was quite surprised to say the least when the bored inane voice on the other end this time perked up and even called him… well, “amazing”. John was clearly too skilled to be there he wondered why on earth a doctor of all things was working at a crisis hotline. It was a strange experience having someone genuinely want to talk to him, one he had not had since his uni days, when he thought that Victor Trevor was actually interested in him. Sure Lestrade talked to him but they were not friends and the man could only stand him in small does, Mrs. Hudson was a kindly mother figure to him but in a way she never really listened or understood, and Mycroft there was just too much history and resentment.

No, John was something else, he lifted up his phone again to look at it curiously as if it somehow had the answer. Just who was this John?

\---------------------

John stepped into the break room pulling a mug from the cabinet and flicking on the kettle after filling it. One of his coworkers, a young woman approached him pulling down another mug and filling it with coffee.

“So, I heard you got, the freak” She started not looking even the guiltiest for her use of language despite her profession.

John’s eyes widened a fraction as pausing as he was about to take a sip of his tea, “pardon?”

“Sherlock” she went on unfazed by his reaction, “he phones in occasionally and pisses the hell out of everyone and since you're not allowed to hang up we have to sit there and take his abuse”

“You mean his deductions” John replied still shocked.

“Yea whatever he calls them, there still creepy” She said with a wave of her hand and taking a drink from her cup, “do you know how many people he’s gotten fired in the last month? So we tend to leave him waiting forever on hold, sorry you got him newbie”

John just stared at the woman shocked as she left, another reminder of why he disliked this job. He often saw it with his fellow doctors and soldiers as well, in the army becoming desensitized to the world around them when dealing with so much horror. Still he wasn't much better with a depression a fake limp. Each day was the same: go to work and then return to the tiny flat he occupied, and attempt to distract himself or mostly just sleep, if he didn’t have work he often had an appointment with Ella and would bullshit his way through the appointment. He knew what he needed and that was stolen from him with a sniper bullet through the shoulder. John finished off his tea and went to back to work pondering his mystery caller: Sherlock.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the-elusive-plot.tumblr.com/

**Author's Note:**

> http://the-elusive-plot.tumblr.com/


End file.
